


I've Seen Sinking Ships Go Down With More Grace Than You

by Zaccari



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:45:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaccari/pseuds/Zaccari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This so isn't the post game routine Paul was planning on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Seen Sinking Ships Go Down With More Grace Than You

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after the December 7th Bruins game.
> 
> Endless thanks to raggedy_edge and Axis2ClusterB for beta'ing this mess, talking me into writing it in the first place and then listening to me panic as I did what they requested. Having said that any remaining mistakes are all mine because I fiddle with crap, I always do.
> 
> Title so incredibly stolen from Fall Out Boy and everything contained herein is made up, not true and a product of me having too much time on my hands.

~Paul’s POV~

Hockey has taught me a lot of things, and most of them boil down to do not even attempt to plan anything between October and June. Stupid me, because I forgot ‘anything’ actually means *everything*, no matter how insignificant those plans might be to the rest of the world at large.

Tonight decided to show me very explicitly what I’d apparently managed to forgot.

It was all so simple, I was going to watch the game - we’d win or put up a damn good fight- and after that I’d go to bed, but not before leaving something for James to snack on when he got home in the microwave. The settings would be completely pre-set and there’d be a post it note on the door telling him to push nothing else but the start button. 

So far, so good, right? 

Sometime around no o’clock I’d wake up to James’ ice like feet against my good leg. I’d bitch, halfheartedly because I’d still be mostly asleep, and James would quietly laugh at me because he’d be pretending he was trying not to wake me up. There’d be a kiss aimed somewhere around his ear, before a better placed one to my cheek, then with my arm around James’ shoulder and him tucked tightly into my side, I’d fall back to sleep as James gave me his version of a play by play of the game. It’s the most random thing you’ll ever hear and it’ll give you whiplash if you actually try to pay attention but I love it because I can feel the words as James speaks them and that means he’s home.

See, none of it would’ve mattered to anybody but me.

Honestly I should have known better.

Because I’m sitting in the team bus, hiding from the frigid air I can still feel and trying to look like I’m resting my leg while holding Erin Orpik’s tiny hand in mine.

It’s colder then James’ feet ever would have been.

Outside, through the snow flurries, I can see my car (Geno cabbed it to my place, then drove me and said car to collected Erin because somebody - possibly a lot of somebodies - would have killed me if I’d tried to drive), the medical transport for Brooks and a very, very pissed Russian slowly and continually pacing like he wants to walk to Boston and rip the heads off any Bruins stupid enough to get in his way. I know he’ll settle for squeezing the life out of every Penguin that gets off the plane, but I do not envy Sid trying to peeling him off the ceiling at some point in the next couple of hours.

Thank god we don’t play the Bruins again.

And I’ll worry about the mess the play offs will be when we get there. 

The hand in mine is starting to shake again.

“Hey, baby, Erin, no.”

Quietly and easily, she comes into my arms for what feels like the hundredth time since we turned up on her doorstep. And again, she’s letting me hold her as she cries softly into my shoulder. I’m not used to holding a body so small against mine, being able to almost smother her in my arms, but right now I just want to keep her safe and together until her husband can take over the job. And if Erin’s helping me in much the same way, well I can tell her about that some other month.

“Brooks is going to be fine, E, you heard them, he’s awake and doesn’t think he’s Brad Pitt. Us D men, we’re too damn stubborn for our own good, you know that.”

Maybe that sound Erin made was trying to be a laugh, but it fell more than a little short.

“James is going to kill you for being here, Paulie.”

She’s not wrong. And if James doesn’t, the line of people that will is almost endless.

“Well, James is going to have to deal with the poppa bear currently standing guard in the snow, then I get a shot at what’s left. After all of that - then, and only then, can he give me shit about a barely broken leg.”

I’m not stupid, I know only the squeal of rubber on tarmac saves me from a Mrs Orpik tongue lashing. She’s too busy starting to shake all over again.

“C’mon baby, let’s go get our men. I’ll even let you have the second hit on James.”

By the time the plane has taxied to a stop the three of us are lined up like lost ducklings wondering where our leader is as it snows around us. The flakes landing on my glasses are blurring my vision, I’m leaning too heavily on my crutches but I’ve still got hold of Erin’s hand in mine. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know Geno’s squeezing the blood flow from her other one at the same time.

It’s freezing, that’s why I’m shivering. I’m just cold.

Brooks is first off the plane. Sort of.

Addsey moves in front of him, Duper’s in tight behind and even then he sways before stumbling and all but walks down the steps with his eyes closed. The coaching staff is right behind the three of them looking like they’re just wishing they’d signed on with the Sabres or something.

Yeah, it’s not just the D men that are a little stubborn on this team.

Feeling Erin move, I turn towards her just in time to see she’s pushing Geno forward.

“You’ve got about a minute to reassure yourself he’s okay, Evgeni, then he’s mine. Go.”

G does, without a second’s hesitation. Erin steps closer to me as the transport vehicle moves closer too. I can’t holder her now, not and remain upright, but I can turn side on to her, trying to take away whatever chill I can. 

We both watch as Craig steps to Brooks’ side as Geno almost slides to a halt in front of them. Brooks’ eyes don’t open as Geno’s hand strokes over his hair, pushing the snowflakes off like he’s afraid they’ll hurt Brooks more. There are words, but knowing Geno they’re so softly spoken that even Duper couldn’t hear them. Knowing the mood Geno’s in currently, they’re probably in Russian anyway.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see the medical guys moving closer, they need to get Brooks out of here.

“Go, honey. Call me if you need anything, I have a feeling James will have a free day here and there this coming week.”

“Thank you, Paulie. And don’t be too hard on him, okay?”

Tonight’s not the night to be yelling at anybody.

“Don’t worry about us, Erin, we’ll be fine. Now go.” 

After squeezing my hand one last time, she does. Walking as quickly as she can, Erin wastes no time at all hugging Craig, then Duper, before ducking into Brooks as they all move him forward to the ambulance. It’s just precaution, more testing, and hopefully he’ll be home tomorrow, but Erin’s face is wet with tears when they shut the doors and the vehicle disappears into the snow and the night.

I’m still watching the dark that swallowed it when Geno grabs everybody’s attention again and this time his words are more than clear, “Lazy. Fuck.”

Turning around I catch the end of Geno slapping his Nealer upside the head. Straight after that though James is wrapped up in the octopus that is Geno getting his cuddle on. God only knows what’s being said, but James is holding on just as hard as G is.

“Should you be on that leg, Marty?”

Damn, I missed Duper sneaking up on me. Wiping my fingers across my glasses doesn’t accomplish much other than smudging my world view and giving me about a two second delay, but I’m almost certain my attempt at a smile does even less.

“I only just stood up five minutes ago, Dad, promise.”

Yes, I’m aware that wasn’t an answer, so is Duper, but neither of us elaborate, we just quietly wait, watching tired souls trudge down slippery steps. Almost everybody is off the plane now, waiting in an almost silent huddle almost like they’re bracing for whatever is going to hit next. Thankfully it’s nothing more than Dan nudging everybody towards the bus. Kuni’s with Geno now while Sid stands guard and that means James is almost mine.

But there’s something I need from Duper first.

“Is everybody okay? Or as okay as they’re getting?”

It’s a stupid question, I can see that my team is bordering on shell shocked, but Duper will get it, I hope. That fact he shakes his head, then shrugs, tells me he does.

“No. Hell, I don’t fucking know what happened out there. Flower’s a mess, even though it’s not like he made the only mistake out there tonight, it was just a nightmare of a game. Sid’s trying, and failing, to find his inner hockey bot for the first time in a long time. Nealer knows he fucked up, but I think he’s more scared of you and G than he is of the hearing.” 

Even as I’m opening my mouth, Duper’s waving a hand in front of my face.

“Don’t. I know. I’m just saying you might have to tell him more than once tonight. Maybe tomorrow we’ll be better, but tonight I want my wife and my kids and to forget Boston even exists.”

Fair enough.

“Get off that leg, Marty, we need you back sooner rather than later. Take Nealer with you, and we’ll all deal with whatever we have to tomorrow. There’ll be something happening at the rink then we’ll be heading back to mine.”

We going to need that. I’m going to need being banished to a sofa while various babies demand I read to them. James is going to need to know he’s an idiot, but a forgiven idiot.

“You’ll let Carole-Lyne know she can pencil us in for whatever when she and Maureen work out who’s doing what for Brooks and Erin?”

“Marty, you need to-“

This time it’s me that cuts Duper off mid-way.

“I know what I need to do, but c’mon, we both know James is going to be home with me for at least a week.”

“Oui.”

There’s nothing else to say really because we’ve both been around long enough to know the truth when we hear it. But for now Duper actually is right, I need to get off my leg.

“Tell Nealer I’m waiting in the car.”

I’ve only taken two steps when Duper stops me with a soft hand high on my arm.

“Paul, you okay?”

“No, but like you said, none of us are. It’s just my reasons are different than yours, that’s all. Go home, Duper, we all need some sleep.”

Not that I’ll be getting any anytime soon.

Covering Pascal’s hand with mine, there’s a gentle squeeze, and this time he lets me go.

It’s a slow walk to the car because the last thing I need is to go down on my ass and make the shit storm tonight has been damn near perfect, and by the time I’m standing by the passenger side door, James is waiting on the opposite side.

“You okay to drive, Jimmy?”

There’s a sort of lifting of one shoulder thing then a nod.

“As long as we wait until we get home to talk.”

“Fair enough.”

James fumbles before finally grabbing the keys I toss him, and unlocks the car then we’re finally both out of the snow. As long as tonight has already been, the choking silence of the drive back to my place tells me it’s not even close to being done with yet.

~*~

On any other night James would be beside me, helping as I hobble up the stairs I’ve done nothing but curse for the last couple of weeks, but tonight he’s just standing at the foot of them, staring at nothing. And I’m guessing the video in his brain is giving him endless replays of something he’d give anything to do over.

“You staying here tonight?”

Because despite popular opinion, James doesn’t actually live here, and, well, let’s just say there’s a few things going on that I’m waiting for James to catch up on.

“Can I?”

That’s…new, incredibly unwelcome and something I can’t deal with tonight. He can question whatever he wants when it comes to hockey, but I’ll be damned if he’s going to question me.

“Don’t, okay James? Just fucking don’t. Now, are you staying here or going across the road?”

He blinks at the garage wall, then finally turns to look at me.

“Here.” 

Thank god.

“Good. Go shower, because you’ve ten minutes before I expect you in bed beside me. Do you want a drink, or anything to eat?”

“No.”

Neither of us move, and damn it, I need to get off this goddamn leg.

“Jimmy, please, upstairs.”

The look on James’ face tells me he thinks he should say something, but has no idea what on earth that something might be, so he almost nods before heading up the stairs. He knows I’m not joking about him only having ten minutes to over think everything, even if there’s absolutely nothing I could do about it right now.

My trip up those same dozen or so steps takes me the better part of five minutes because I may have over done it in the last seven-ish hours, but by the time I hear the shower cut off, I’ve grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the fridge, changed into another pair of sweats and I’m exactly where I told James I would be - in bed, waiting for him.

Walking back into the bedroom, James is dressed in sweats and a Gopher’s t-shirt I thought Mom had turned into a cleaning rag a decade ago. Instinct, routine and a desire to the delay the inevitable have him grabbing the pillow I left sitting on the floor and tucking it up under my knee and calf elevating my leg as I put my glasses on the bedside table. The pillow will help eventually and I probably should take some pain killers, but they screw with my head more than I’d like so maybe later, if I have to. It’s my own fault I’m sore and I guess that just makes me one more idiot in what’s seeming like an endless conga line of stupid.

James is…standing in the middle of the room, being James and I’m about done. 

“Just come to bed, Jimmy, please?”

Still he hesitates, and all I can do is messily throw back the blankets in invitation and wait.

“I fucked up, Paulie.” 

“Yeah, you did.” 

There will probably be an argument at some point in the next twenty fours, but it won’t be over that. And James knows me well enough to know I’m not going to pander to him. I’ll love him, I’ll protect him but I will not lie to him.

Finally he steps towards the bed, once, then twice, slowly, like he’s counting to god only knows what between each step, but he stops when he reaches the edge of the bed, hesitating again.

“If you want to know if I’m pissed at you, James, yeah, I am. I’m annoyed you can be so damn stupid in a game where you can also be so incredibly smart. It doesn’t matter if you thought you’d get away with it, or were above the rules or if you didn’t think at all, the end result is you’ve fucked yourself and the team over, congratulations, now the guys we’re missing aren’t just the injured, because now we also have the fool. But if you think that’s all I am, then, seriously, maybe you should have stayed at your house tonight.”

I’m not enjoying the sickened look of shock on James’ face, and I’m breaking the only rule I’ve ever given myself when it comes to whatever this is between the two of us, but I’m tired, and it’s late, and I don’t want him standing beside my bed any more. I want him in it, beside me, where I can touch him. Doesn’t he get that? 

No. He doesn’t.

“Come here, please, James, just come here.” 

The tone of my voice is barely a level above begging and I could care less, because finally he comes. Into the bed, pulling the covers up around us as he curls into me, then somehow he lets me get him closer still. His feet are freezing. 

Now he’s finally safe.

At first I don’t catch what he mumbles into my shoulder though, I don’t even realise the murmuring is meant to be words, something I’m supposed to be replying to.

“Sorry, say that again?”

“Was it my fault?”

The words are clearer, James has shifted his face enough that he’s just resting on my shoulder rather than almost buried in it. I’m sure he said more than that a minute ago, but I’m also sure I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Was what your fault?”

“Brooks getting taken out, was it because of me?”

Sweet Jesus who let James loose on the internet on the plane flight home? And how do I tell him the short answer is no, but the truth according to far too many people within continental North America is…maybe?

See, hockey has also taught me the truth as you think you know it doesn’t belong to anybody other than you and it’s about as far from absolute as you could possibly imagine it being.

Of course, telling James any of that tonight will get me exactly nowhere, so I say the only think I can think of.

“James, the only actions you’re responsible for in that game are your own. The decisions you made, good or bad, they’re on you. Maybe the Bruins will want to blame you, they’ll probably try to do exactly that and then maybe they’ll blame Brooks, or Sid, or Montreal or fucking global warning and in the long run none of it will matter. Because the game and all the ugly that went along with it happened and nobody gets a do over now. You’ll take whatever penalty that is dished out to you on the chin and Thornton is going to have to do the same. The important thing now is that Brooks is okay.”

And you’re home. With me.

“Not sure that helps all that much, Paulie.”

I know James can feel my shrug, and more than likely it’ll piss James off, but…

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, James. Do you I think it was your fault? No more than it was mine. Is every hockey fan that doesn’t support the Pens going call bullshit on that? Fuck, yes. I can’t spin this all pretty like, so, what is it I’m supposed to say?”

James pushes away from me, sitting back on his heels and shaking the bed and my leg in his wake, but he doesn’t seem to notice the sharp breath I take or the way my teeth sink into my lower lip. 

Maybe he really should have gone home.

“I was hoping for a little fucking support, Paulie, is that too much to ask? You’re my fucking boyfriend!”

“Well, in that case, your boyfriend is telling you that you were fucking idiot tonight. But I’m also telling you that your idiotic unwillingness to skate a foot or two to your damn right has nothing to do with what happened to Orps.”

At least not to a logical mind. But hockey players aren’t that great with logic, who would have guessed it?

Running his hands through his hair, James is projecting frustration like Geno hits a puck. This night really is going to last forever.

“Well, like you said, your opinion won’t be the popular one.”

Pushing myself up onto my elbows hurts in a way that’s telling me Kadar’s going to want to slap me stupid when we meet up in the gym tomorrow, but I am not having this…conversation, fight, whatever it is laying down.

“Then why did you ask me for it? James, I don’t want to spend all night yelling at you, it’s the last damn thing I want, but fuck it all to hell and back, what do you want from me?”

“I don’t know!”

Great. Just…great.

“Then maybe you should go home. You can watch infomercials and I can take some drugs then pass out and we’ll try this again tomorrow.”

“Is that what you want, Paulie?”

For crying out loud, this passive aggressive bullshit isn’t my James, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to kill him anyway.

“No, it isn’t. I wanted you here half an hour ago, and I still want you here now! But you’re itching for a fight that I can’t give you, Jimmy. I get that you’ve got a million and one feelings you’re dealing with, but you’re not the only one! I’m pissed I wasn’t there to do my damn job, I hate I wasn’t there to protect Brooks, pull my weight and beat that goddamn team…and even as all of that spinning round my head, the feeling of uselessness, and fear, do you know what I feel the most, James? Do you?” Of course he doesn’t and the clueless look on his face lets me know that in no uncertain terms, so I just keep going cutting off my own nose to spite my face. “The answer is guilt and fucking relief! Because even as I was holding Erin tonight, trying to convince her over and over that Brooks would be just fine, there was this constant mantra of ‘thank god it wasn’t James’ playing in my head. And just in case you’re wondering, it has nothing to do with the Penguins or even hockey. I can honestly say I’ve never given a damn about winning or hockey less than I have in the last eight hours.”

I’m not sure if James will get what I’m saying, or just take the words for what they are and nothing more. I need those pain killers now, I need to sleep and I just want this nightmare of a night to be over. Whatever happens in the morning, as bad as I know it’s going to be, it just can’t be any worse than what’s gone on tonight. 

And at least this time we’ll know it’s coming.

“What do you mean?”

“Huh?”

It’s the best I can do, because of course, now he pays attention. Grabbing my pillow, then James’, I shove them behind my neck and back. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’ll do. James is still sitting almost at my feet, squinting like he’s trying to focus properly, just out of my reach and I can all but see him processing my words.

So I just wait. It’s not the longest five minutes of the night, but it’s close.

“You love hockey.”

All I can do is nod.

“Why am I more important?”

For two years, I’ve been James’ boyfriend. We’re not a secret, we’re exclusive, there’s never been issue about our families not knowing or not wanting to admit to being gay or any of that. It’s just there’s never been any mention of what comes after all of this hockey stuff.

Or of love.

Reaching my hand out as far as I can, I let it rest there between us, hoping that eventually James will close the distance. Then my eyes close, and when I take a deep breath I swear I can feel in the throbbing of my broken bone.

Here goes everything.

“Because you are. You always have been.”

All or nothing, Paul, all or nothing. My hand is still empty, and I can’t open my eyes, but I can do this

“Do you know what I hated more than not being able to do my job tonight? Realising that one day it won’t be my job. Soon, sooner than I’d like, I’m going to be watching every Pens game from home, or the family seats. I’m going to be Erin. I won’t be out there on the ice with you, and if something happens to you, I won’t be able to get to you. I won’t be there. I know you need me to tell you it’s all going to be okay, but I can’t because I can’t even convince myself of that right now. I won’t be out there with you, James, and how can that be okay?”

James’ snort is loud and obnoxious.

“You’re not that fucking old, Paulie.”

“I never said I was. But I am older than you, and I will retire first. That’s just how it is, Jimmy.”

“So, what, you want to end this?” 

The question is trying to be all ‘whatever’ but I won’t be pointing out just how far that mark was missed any time soon. Because that’s my James - if there’s a wrong end of the stick, he’ll grab it.

“Hell no, I’m in love you! I’m just saying you fucked up, and I’m fucking scared! And even with all of that, the only thing I want is you here, with me. And maybe to sleep at some point tonight, but you being here is first on the list.”

James’ hand is anything but warm when he reaches over and laces our fingers together, but I couldn’t possibly care less. He moves until he’s sitting beside my hip which is nice but not exactly where I want him.

“Do you want me to get you some pills?”

Yes.

“No. I just want you to lay back down here and let me hold you.”

This time James is not just beside me, he rests a bent leg on my hip and down my thigh, there’s an arm across my chest, a head laying on my shoulder and lips pressed gently into my neck. I can’t do much more in return than wrap my arm around James’ shoulders but as I do he somehow moves closer. 

It’s just about perfect. I doubt I’ll sleep, but I can finally rest.

“Paulie?”

“Hmmm?”

The kiss just below my ear is a little harder than the last, and there’s an edge of promise.

It’s almost enough.

“You know I love you too, right?”

“I do now.”

And that is enough

**Author's Note:**

> Sweet pixies, a new fandom...here goes nothing.


End file.
